27. Eden
EDEN
When Connor drops me back at Tolliver, I’m grateful Bree is gone from our suite. I need a shower, fresh clothes, and a coffee before I can handle an interrogation from her.
I also want to bask in my memories of our date for a moment.
What a night. Not only was it a good time, but I genuinely like him.
Sure, I knew he was smart, funny. But now that he’s all in, it’s evident he’s also sweet and kind.
Green flags flying all around. That side of him is buried under that quiet reluctance to open up, like he now has with me.
It’s okay if he takes a while to warm up with new people. Not everyone is going to be chatty from day one, or a confident extrovert.
Speaking of which…
The door opens. My resident chatty, confident extrovert is home.
Bree walks in, wearing workout gear. As soon as she sees me, her eyes expand. “Oooh, you’re here.”
“I am…” I plop on my couch. I don’t have to wait long for the questions to start.
“Soooo, how was Princeton boy?” She sits down next to me and starts taking off her sneakers. “I need all the details.”
“It was…so good.”
She waits for me to elaborate until it’s clear I’m not going to. “Those aren’t details, Larsson.”
I giggle. “Sorry.” I describe Connor’s pub tour and how it devolved into sexy dancing at Eclypse.
“That sounds fun. And obviously you thought so, since you spent the night?” Her brow is raised.
I grin reflexively. “It was. We had a nice time.”
Her eye roll is immediate. “You suck at these hookup postmortems.”
“Well, if we’re going to be dating seriously, some things will have to stay just between Connor and me.” My tone is light, so she doesn’t think I’m annoyed at her.
“Oh, come on, you told me everything about you and Greg.”
She’s right. But… “That’s because I was complaining more than anything.”
“Ha. True. I guess it’s good you don’t have anything to complain about…He knew what he was doing?”
“Yeah. And he…” I let my voice trail off. Debating whether I want to share.
Typical Bree doesn’t let it go. “He…what?”
I let the words out. “He’s kind of, I don’t know? Bossy?”
Her eyes darken with concern. “Bossy? Like…mean?”
“No, not at all. He…it’s like he wants to be in control. Tell me what to do. Physically.”
Her shoulders relax. “Okay, that sounds hot.”
“I don’t think he’s even aware of how he’s being. It’s just…what he does? I don’t know how to explain it.”
“And you liked it?”
I nod yes. Vigorously.
“Your eyes are like the size of the moon,” she observes. “You like it a lot?”
“I think I do.”
“Girl, this sounds like my books, to be honest. My romance books.”
“What do you mean?”
She goes to her bookshelves and pulls two paperbacks out. “These two. They’re dom-sub romances.”
What? I barely know anything about that lifestyle, but teenage me watched the Fifty Shades movies enough on a streaming channel to understand the term.
“I…you think that’s what he’s into?”
She sits back down, shrugging. “Maybe him, maybe you, maybe both? I mean, you just started hooking up.”
“Again. It was technically a second time.”
Her eyes widen. “Wait, was he like this that night of my July Fourth party too?”
“Yeah…” I remember the way he had me hold my eyes to the fireworks, while he kept me caged into his body. “He was.”
She raises her brow. “I mean, it’s nothing to be stressed about. You like what you like, and so does he.”
“I’m not stressed—more surprised. I never…” My voice fades.
She tosses the books next to me. “Read the spicy scenes in those, and see what you think.”
Five minutes later, she’s off to shower, and I skim her suggestions after reviewing the blurbs. One of the books involves a professor and his graduate assistant, and the other a single mom and her arranged marriage to a mafia don.
Neither has much to do with twenty-something athletes trying to navigate the real world.
Yet, I’m still turned on when I read one of the spice scenes. What does that mean, in reality?
I’m definitely going to go back to the beginning and do closer reads…
First, I need to check off an official Sunday task. I’ve given the decision the weekend, and now I need to woman up.
After talking to Connor this morning, I’m certain. I want to walk away from the medical school application process, for now. It might not be what my parents want to hear, but my instincts say it’s better than going through the motions any longer.
Running my fingers over the buttons on my phone, I consider what to say to Mom if she pushes me to keep going again. It’s not my norm to do something over her objection.
But I’m graduating from college. I’ll almost certainly have a pro contract in a matter of months. I’m already making enough to pay my bills via sponsorships.
It’s time to make decisions that I’ve been avoiding.
Time to act like an adult.
Time to stop worrying about the smallest amount of friction from my parents when what I want for my life is clear.
I click over to my texts and hit her name to call on one of her message chains.
“Hey sweetie, good morning.” Her voice is a little croaky. Oh shoot, it’s only seven thirty there.
“Is it too early to call?”
“Not for you. How are you?”
“All is well. I do want to talk to you about something, though.”
My tone is serious, and I hear her place her coffee mug on the counter. “Of course. What’s going on?”
“I—I’ve made a decision. I don’t want you to be mad…but I’m going to withdraw my applications.”
“Well—”
“I know, I know. We had a plan for how to handle them this year. The thing is, I don’t want to start med school yet. I want to push forward on my soccer career. And I—” My voice cracks.
“Honey…”
The corners of my eyes are wet. “I don’t think I can do it all. School, applications, soccer. I’m already behind other players my age.”
“You sacrificed to go to school, but it was the right thing to do. I don’t think you’ll regret it.” Her tone is gentle.
“I probably won’t. I need to do this for myself. To clear some space. Not feel like I’m drowning. And to give playing pro my full effort next year.”
She’s quiet for a second. “I think that’s a fine decision. I—I guess I didn’t really think about the toll all of this would take on you. You should be enjoying life too, by the way. Let’s make time for that.”
I laugh softly, wiping away the tears. “I am, Mom. Promise.”
Another few seconds of quiet passes before she speaks again. “Good. You know we have a couple of amazing young doctors at the hospital who took several years in between college and medical school. They’d probably talk to you when you’re ready.”
“Sounds great.”
We talk a little longer before I mention I need to call Dad too.
Although I’m less worried about this call. For good reason, since he reacts with excitement.
“So this is it? We’re going all in on soccer?”
“We are. Win the College Cup first, keep earning my spot on the national team the rest of senior year, and then go pro.”
“You got this, Eden.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
And when we hang up, I text the one person who knows about my struggle.
EDEN: I did it. I told my parents. I’m withdrawing my medical school apps.
CONNOR: Shit, that’s huge. How do you feel about it?
EDEN: Like a crate of that Peach Cobbler Chard is off my chest.
CONNOR:
EDEN: Sorry, that was a bad joke. But yeah, free!! Liberated from at least one huge thing.
CONNOR: I enjoyed the joke.
CONNOR: And good.
EDEN: I had a really nice time last night. I should have started there.
CONNOR: Me too. And no worries.
EDEN: Sorry for dropping all of this on you this morning, and again, now.
CONNOR: No apologies for being real, right?
EDEN: Right.
CONNOR: You can talk to me about anything. Anytime.